Go Home to Your Friends: Be Christ's Presence 2 Pentecost, Year B: Mark 5:1-20 June 22, 2003 Elizabeth H. Wheatley Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi He was isolated from the community, living on the margins where sane people did not dare to walk, where the vermin and filthy animals forged for their very existence. Everyone had given up on him. They could not rid him of his disease and no longer could they even keep him from hurting himself. He was left alone, alienated and for the most part forgotten. The only thing anyone knew of him anymore was his disease …. No name to speak of… You know, that crazy man, the one who makes no sense… the one who scares the women and children with his wild hair, rancid clothes and mad ranting and raving… You know, that bum, that freak…. The Legionnaire. Perhaps, you don't know him as the Legionnaire. You know that dark skinned man who wanders the town begging for money or that dirty old man who hangs around campus leering at young women. Maybe he's not a he. Maybe he is that woman who parades around town scantily clad in loud, dime store dresses. Or perhaps she is the mother of those poor children who always appear hungry and unkempt? He or she may even be that family member or parishioner of whom everyone speaks only in whispers with words like… Cancer… Prison… AIDs… Alcohol… Homosexual… Divorced… Depression… Bankrupt. Whoever he or she may be, no name is required. To even consider a name is exhausting, embarrassing and all too scary, because if I give him a name then he must be human. And, if she is human, then I must treat her with respect --- acknowledge his presence --- take a chance and speak to him --- look her in the eye. (But, even then, I will still hope that he is looking the other direction.) Even he resists being human, having his own name. When confronted by Jesus, he calls himself by the name of his disease -- Legion -- the multiplicity and complexity of his pained and tormented spirit. And, even he is afraid of really letting go, being looked squarely in the eye, being healed, whole, human. If the Legionnaire himself resisted Jesus, what must the crowds have thought when they arrived to find him… the demoniac… the town freak… sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, a sane man. How could this be? What madness has happened? And, now, who will bear the brunt of the whispers and jokes? How will we keep our children at home in our safe neighborhood now that there was nothing "out there" to warn them about, no one to fear? Forget the demoniac, what about our swine, our property, all of the money Jesus has just cost us by sending our swine over the cliff? Such a waste, for what? A disease? An unclean spirit? The crowds are disoriented by sight of the man who had had the legion sitting their clothed and in his right mind -- sane, healed, whole, human. It is as if their sanity, their piece of mind, had grown dependent upon his insanity. For so long the people had exhausted themselves trying to take care of him. For so long they had try to cure him and to keep him from hurting himself. In the end they had stopped caring whether he was sick or not. All that mattered was whether he -- or rather his disease -- dared to infect their neighborhood and endanger their lives. Now, he seems sane and they are afraid, insane. Since they can no longer exclude the man who had had the unclean spirit, they have to find someone to blame. They blame Jesus. They point their fingers and send him away… they care not where…. just away, away from their neighborhood, away from their homes, away from everything they know and love. Jesus, Go Away! But what about the Legionnaire, what about the man who had been possessed by demons? Does he have to go away, too? Can he leave? Can he go with Jesus? No, Jesus will not let him leave. He will not let him escape. Jesus sends him home -- home to his friends, home to his family, his community, his parish. Jesus sends him home, not so that he will be pointed at, gawked at and reminded of the disease, the pain, the isolation, the voices and madness but so that his presence will be a reminder to the people. Jesus sends him home to tell the difficult and tearful stories, the remembrances of stones, shackles, and chains, the sound of howling and the squealing of swine, and the sight of a man sitting there, clothed and his right mind --- healed, whole, human. And with all of these stories, with an honest remembrance of the pain, the shackles and suffering, and a vivid experience of naming the disease, being liberated and healed, the man will stand, tall and upright, as a revelation of God's unfailing love, a symbol of Christ's abundant grace and mercy. No longer isolated, no longer excluded, no longer known only by his disease, the man who had been overwhelmed by sickness, disease and unclean spirits is sent back home, into the center of the rubble, into the midst of the people who also had been caught up in the cycle of sickness, disease and unclean spirits. Jesus is sent away, and yet Christ remains present. Christ remains present because the man, formerly known as the Legionnaire, the bum, the freak, is sent home to remain present. He is sent. She is sent. We are sent -- healed, whole, human -- not to eat crow nor to be humiliated, but to remain, to be present, to be Christ's presence, as a man, a woman, a people who can attest to the truth of Christ's grace and mercy. To even consider a name is exhausting, embarrassing and all too scary, because if I give him a name then he must be human. And, if she is human, then I must treat her with respect --- acknowledge his presence --- take a chance and speak to him --- look her in the eye --- see the face of Christ. "Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy Christ has shown to you." Go home to your friends…Go home to your family…Go home to your community… Tell them how much the Lord has done for YOU, and what mercy Christ has shown to YOU. Go home. Remain. Tell of Christ's mercy. Be Christ's presence.